The Magic of Majique
by Tragic Aliza
Summary: Though Dumbledore is dead, he has left behind two tokens of his memory for Harry...girls. Is Harry ready to let these hot twins replace his best friends in his revenge on Voldemort? Well, he is a guy...read on!
1. Majique intro

Okay readers – I've done a few short fanfics before, but this one is my masterpiece! crash of lightning Before I start – no, I do not have any affiliation with Harry Potter or JK Rowling, blah blah blah.

Onward! Some history about my characters:

Shira and Celia Majique. They're twin girls, technically…but they're not human. (This is where my creative juices get pumping.) When the prophecy about Harry and Voldemort was made, Dumbledore had secretly alerted workers at the Ministry's Department of Mysteries; they created the Majique twins. They are magical beings meant to aide Harry in his endeavors against Voldemort – though they can be socially awkward, they are each full of wisdom. They are called twins, but since they're not exactly people – they're more like tools, really – they're not truly sisters. They don't look alike, and have completely different personalities.

Dumbledore helps to make them, of course (how could he not?) – and so naturally, they each have their quirks. You'll see in the story what they're like, so I need not delve into this right now.

They each have their own power – Shira can put any active, living creature into a deep sleep by singing (though it is temporary). The name "Shira" means "song." Celia, if she successfully makes direct eye contact with any active, living creature, can make them temporarily blind. The name "Celia" means "blindness." Her power doesn't work if she looks at someone wearing glasses, etc.

The story takes place after Dumbledore's death; even though he can't be with Harry, it's like these two are a part of him. You'll see what I mean. Just go with it.

It's confusing, I know…but read, enjoy, and if you've any questions, email me at (Please put "The Magic of Majique" in the subject heading. Thanks!)


	2. The First Meeting

"Harry, they're here. Come in, please."

Harry follwed the sound of Minerva McGonagall's calm, yet somehow stern voice. Since his seventeenth birthday over the summer, he'd agreed to come stay at Hogwarts for the remainder of the summer, being that he had previously decided to not come back for schooling for his final year. Holed up in the castle, Hermione and Ron had obviously come with him – friends stick together. At the moment, however, they were probably making out in a certain room near a certain statue of a certain troll…so he went into McGonagall's office on his own.

Within, he found the new Headmistress sitting at Dumbledore's old desk. Two girls were sitting in chairs across from her – they'd turned around to look at the famous Harry Potter, no doubt. Harry was increasingly cynical these days.

Glancing at them quickly, he took them in – they both looked similar, but they were still quite obviously different. The one on the left was of a fair complexion; her skin was so light, it was almost porcelain, and her hair was long, wispy, and so blonde it could pass for white. Her eyes were also frighteningly reflective – they were the palest blue – maybe gray – Harry had ever seen, it was almost as if she had no irises at all. Though she looked like she'd been suffocated – her lips, instead of pink, were the palest of violet – she was still stunningly beautiful. But that's not to say that she was more attractive than the other, for they were both gorgeous – but the contrast was extreme. They had the same facial structure, the same angular jaw line, the same arched eyebrows (though different colors), the same slightly narrowed eyes – but the second girl was nearly the polar opposite. Her complexion, in turn, was very dark, and looked more so when she sat like she was beside the first. Her skin was dark, though certainly not the darkest Harry had ever seen, as if she were from North Africa – Morocco, perhaps, or Egypt. Her eyes were so dark, it was as if she just had huge pupils – the blackest of black. And the same went for her hair – it was the deepest, richest ebony that Harry had ever seen – it was almost surreal. And as opposed to the other's long locks, the second girl's hair was cut very short, and was curly instead of straight.

"Um," said Harry.

The dark girl smiled, and the light girl laughed – Harry suddenly felt a little tired.

"Harry," said McGonagall in her usual tranquil fashion, "These are your aides I spoke to you about from the Ministry – and Dumbledore."

"They're girls," noted Harry dumbly. _Very attractive girls_, he thought to himself.

Before the somewhat perplexed McGonagall could respond, the dark girl spoke.

"Yes," she said – her voice was deeper than Harry had expected, and even though it had a little rasp, it was still smooth – it reminded Harry of a jazz singer, or straight black coffee. Her accent was British. "My name is Celia, and this is my sister, Shira." Celia smiled – her teeth were perfectly even and pearly, and Harry was put at ease. Putting his hands in his pocket awkwardly, he trudged toward the three women, sitting in a third chair that managed to face all of them.

"But how can you be sisters?" he asked in what he hoped what a casual tone.

"We're not human," beamed Shira – her voice was relatively high-pitched. She surprisingly had an American accent – Harry guessed the Ministry workers were probably getting bored. Go figure. It reminded Harry of one of those ditsy blonde pop stars, but he seriously doubted she was ditsy at all – after all, McGonagall had told him that they possessed some of the same aspects as Dumbledore, a man who had not an ounce of ditsiness in him. "We're artificial creations of the Ministry – after our task is finished –"

"We'll save that for another time," interjected the Headmistress – it was clear to anyone to see that Shira was most certainly more talkative and bubbly than her counterpart, though Celia was by no means intimidating. "For now, why doesn't Harry walk you around the castle grounds, show you a tour, perhaps?" she raised an eyebrow at Harry. "You two can get a chance to know him, and vise-versa."

"Ooh, when do we get to meet, um, Ron and, oh – Her, Hermo – oh, Hermione?"

_Oh, she'll just love that_, thought Harry sarcastically, knowing all too well that Hermione was not the biggest fan of people mispronouncing anything, especially her own name.

"Later," said McGonagall vaguely. "I'm sure they're busy…studying, at the moment," she said awkwardly.

Harry stood up – he hated thinking about his two best friends like that. It was just so…gross.

"Let's go," he said to the two girls. "I'll take you down to the lake, it's nice this time of year."

As the girls said their gracious goodbyes to McGonagall, he noticed Celia shushing Shira – he wondered why, and almost felt sorry for the fair-skinned girl. And Celia didn't quite look at McGonagall, either – Harry figured she had some Freudian power issues. Whatever.

Until next time!


	3. Taking a Breather

The summer air was humid, and Harry's shirt was starting to stick to the skin on his back. As his upper lip got a smidge sweaty, he combed his fingers through his shaggy black hair and looked at the two girls walking one either side of him – a beautiful white angel on his left, a dark goddess on his right.

_This is so much better than hanging around Ron and Hermione flirting all day,_ he thought to himself, and couldn't help but grin a little.

"So," said a down-to-business voice from his right – it was harsher than Hermione's, get smooth and flowing like molasses – "How are we going to start finding the remaining Horcruxes?"

This question caught Harry off guard – here he was, spending a lovely – if not blazing – summer day with two amazingly beautiful girls, thinking about how he was going to introduce these apparently non-humans to his friends…and she popped him with this serious question.

In the past months, Harry had only thought of Horcruxes and Dumbledore being dead and how he was going to kill Voldemort and how to keep his friends from being hurt and…so many things. Now, the one time it seemed his mind was getting a break, it was all really about business.

"No clue," he shrugged. "I mean, I figured we'd start with Gryffindor, since I thought I was the only one that could get to his stuff –"

"What makes you think that?" asked Shira questioningly. Her voice was doubtful.

"Well, I got his sword from the Sorting Hat, didn't I? I'm sure you know all about that?" The girls nodded. "Well, no one knows of anything else he ever had – I mean, there aren't any records or anything, are there?"

"No," interjected Celia, "At least, not in the official records, at the Ministry – but since when have you ever put faith in the Ministry, Harry?" Harry couldn't tell if she was joking or not – it seemed she always kept a straight face.

"But aren't you two from the Ministry?" he replied a bit snidely – she'd asked him a question, after all, and now she was being rude because she was unhappy with the answer? Please.

Harry had been full of teenage angst lately. Which is to be expected. Because he may or may not die in the near future. Meh.

"Yes," said Shira with a playful eyeroll, "But keep in mind that Dumbledore was the main creator of us –"

"I didn't know that," interrupted Harry a bit excitedly. "I thought he just helped fund the project or something –"

"No," said Celia, creating a pattern of interruptions. "Dumbledore put a part of him into each of us. His good humor went to her – and his ability to be serious to me, apparently." The corners of her mouth flickered – it seemed she'd tried to make a joke._ Not a very good one_, thought Harry – but then again, he had to give her some credit for trying. After all, it wasn't her fault Dumbledore had been stingy with the fun.

* * *

Much later that evening in the Great Hall, Harry sat alone in the dark room – he hadn't bothered with such trivial things as torches and lights – at the very end of the Gryffindor table, situated at the corner closest to the corner of the huge room. As it was nearly eight, the sky outside was dark' in the Great Hall, the ceiling was a mass of dark gray mist with a star peeking through here or there.

Sighing, Harry put his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. Celia and Shira had gone off to look about the castle, get settled, all that jazz. He hadn't seen Ron or Hermione all day, and didn't really care where McGonagall was at the moment, she being the only staff member there over the summer, mostly to just watch over them – Filch had been given time off, thank god. Since he'd left the girls by the lake to talk about Merlin knows what with each other, Harry had been in a sort of a depressed funk. Now it was evident that he would be seeing Voldemort soon. And he dreaded having to search for all of the Horcruxes. Most of all, he hated having been born in July. A part of him was resentful of the fact that Neville was on holiday with his grams – but he couldn't hold it against the guy. It really was all Voldemort's fault, anyway.

He looked up as he heard clicking footsteps.

"Harry? Is that you? God, you're such a creep, mate."

A tall stick that looked to be on fire came into the Great Hall. With a quick lighting spell from the flaming stick's wand, it transformed itself into Ron.

"Nah, I'm not a creep – I'm artistic," joked Harry.

"More like emo," replied Ron jokingly in return, and sat down across from his best friend, the room now properly lit. "Whatcha thinin 'bout, anyway?"

"Not much," lied Harry. "Say," he added, changing the subject in an instant, "I met the two helpers from the Ministry today. They're out roaming the castle now.:

"Nice! Are they all spooky with sunglasses and shite?"

"Nah, they're girls," laughed Harry.

"What? Girls? They sent you girls? How the hell are they supposed to hold up against you-know-who?"

"Oh, just say 'Voldemort,' for god's sake," interjected Hermione, entering the Great Hall with a copy of the seventh years' charms textbook under one arm.

"What the hell are you thinking?" laughed Harry, pointing at the book.

"I was thinking that since we're not studying here after the summer, I might as well learn the material now – and yes, Ron, believe it or not, girls can fight evil too. Chauvinist pig."

She plopped down beside her boyfriend – finally – and slid the book on the tabletop towards him.

"You'd do well to read this, too. Both of you," she said, knowing full-well that neither of them would even crack the thing open.

"She hears like a bat, I swear," said Ron, rolling his eyes – only to get elbowed in the ribs. "Ow!"

"Would you two stop flirting already? I'm trying to figure out how to defeat the most evil wizard of all time, and all I see in my head is you two snogging. Disgusting."

"Sorry," Ron and Hermione said in unison, sort of hanging their heads a bit.

"It's alright. Now, about the girls –"

"What are their names? Are they nice?" interrupted Hermione, immediately forgetting why she'd been embarrassed.

"Wait, I'm getting to that!" said Harry, half impatient, half laughing at her enthusiasm. "One is Celia – Hermione, you'll love her, she likes working maybe more than you do," he grinned. "The other's Shira – she acts like a ditz sometimes, but she's actually quite smart. Earlier she went on and on about physics applied to the wizarding world – it was actually quite interesting," he said honestly, "the way she went about it and all – but for some reason I kept getting really drowsy."

"Probably the heat," reasoned Hermione, "It was driving everyone crazy."

* * *

I figured now was a god time to quit the chapter, seeing as how my tank is all out of creative juice. Please email me and let me know how I can improve…or just tell me how awesome I am. ;P 


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